When it rains,

by Katie on April 3, 2009

“It snows,” Brandon says.
Which kind of reminds me of one of those Jamie Rovey phrases (Brandon calls them “Roveyisms”), where he takes some age-old adage, but changes the words, and you have to use context clues to understand what he’s trying to say.
But for Brandon, that phrase summed up how he felt Wednesday night.
About the time he was supposed to be returning from irrigating in Palo Verde, he called and asked if I could come help him. His truck was stuck.
“Like how bad?” I asked.
“Like I can’t open my front door,” he said, “And your truck is not going to cut it.”
When I arrived, I quickly saw why my little F-150 wouldn’t do the job. As someone from the swamp who has experience with these situations, this was one of the worst “stuck” jobs I had ever seen. Half his truck was in the alfalfa field, which was currently being irrigated, and just about high-centered on what was left of the outside border.
But we gave it the good ole’ college try with my truck anyway. Once the tow strap was snug, the weight of Brandon’s buried truck literally sent the back end of my little pickup skidding three feet across the road. So, we went in search of a tractor.
By 9:30, we had the truck out of there, were home by 10, and he had most of the foot of mud cleaned off his tires by 10:30. At this point in the week, Brandon had slept for a combined three hours in the past 2.5 days, as we had some night irrigating to do. So, especially after the truck-in-the-field incident, all he wanted was to crawl in bed.
That just wasn’t what fate had in store for him.
Seconds after he walks in the door, I hear lots of screaming, hollering and not-so-nice words, and come running. I enter the kitchen to find him on one foot, holding up a coffee mug with a smushed, giant scorpion on the bottom, and Brandon still cursing him.
Even though we periodically find the little menaces in our house, neither of us had ever been stung. Until that night.
We got him to the couch with a cold pack for his foot, and Googled “scorpion sting” to find out what we were supposed to do about the burning and stinging that had now reached his knee.
I am now convinced Googling is NOT what you want to do when seeking medical advice. We read everything from hospitalization to foaming at the mouth. We’re both against medical care unless it is absolutely necessary, and certainly didn’t want to spend the next six hours in a waiting room.
But once the burning, stinging and tingling reached his upper thigh, we were a little concerned. Since Google wasn’t any help, we called his parents (at 11pm) to seek advice, and they recommended calling Poison Control. So we did.
They told him to take some Tylenol, put something cold on it (both of which we had already done), and go ahead and go to sleep – if he could sleep through the pain, he would be fine. We added a little dose of hydrocodone to the mix, and headed to bed. Although, we had a little difficulty figuring out how to keep something cold on the bottom of this foot during the night.
This is what we came up with and strapped to his foot:
There was a cold bottle of chocolate syrup in there. The freezer packs were “too cold”, and the chocolate was the only thing in the fridge that came in a plastic container, so we stuck his foot in the middle of this bundle, and cinched the belt up. And that’s how we slept. 
You would think the story would end here. But it gets better. As we were limping down the hall to our bedroom, we found another scorpion on the wall there. Then, as we were leaving the house at 4:30am to irrigate, there was another one just outside the pantry door. We went scorpion hunting last night with my mom’s blacklight flashlight, and found four more outside the house – and two of them got away before Brandon could kill them with his pipe wrench (his scorpion-hunting tool of choice).

Our house has turned into a breeding ground.

And since he could still barely walk yesterday, I got to be head irrigator.

Just another day in paradise…
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